


Resilience

by samidha



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comment Fic, Gen, Wee Dean, Wee Sam, Young Winchesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-26
Updated: 2010-10-26
Packaged: 2018-12-14 11:30:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11782239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samidha/pseuds/samidha
Summary: John watches his two silent sons.





	Resilience

**Author's Note:**

> With some help from the comic Origins.

Dean doesn't speak for six months.

Time stretches on and on, and on some more. It's amazing how slow time moves with a shroud of silence around you, like the whole world has stopped moving, or maybe you are just out of sync with it, and every sound that penetrates is louder, harder, meaner. He looks at his son and can't even think of moving on, because Dean doesn't have words and he has none either.

He's moving through molasses when the cops come and question him, staying at Mike's and barely moving. Somehow, Dean has started to take over caring for Sammy: he knows how to hold him, and he must have taught his son about diaper changes at some point, not that he can remember when. Dean is four and can stand in for a lot of the things he should be doing, but can't really bring himself to deal with.

All the while, Dean is silent, and John is glad that he's found something that brings him a little bit of calm in the storm. He may not speak, but John has caught him smiling a time or two. Proof that his son is resilient, that he is going to survive this.

John doesn't tell anyone that it's hard to look at Sam now, that it feels like his son is changed somehow. They don't believe him about the fire, and if he says anything about Sam to the wrong people, they could take the boy away from him. The cops already suspect arson. He knows, with the way they look at him sideways all the time, ask him if there was any trouble at home.

He tries hard not to think too much about Sam, lets Dean pick up the skills he can. It brings his little boy some peace, and anything that can do that is worth it.

He went to Missouri and he learned the truth; there are things out there in the dark, and one of them targeted his home. This thing is bigger than him by a long shot, and he's got work to do. Soon he comes home smelling of smoke, of burned flesh, and he waits for Dean's questions, but none come, nothing at all. He wonders if Sam has somehow swallowed up his older brother, if Dean will ever reemerge as a little boy at all, or if this silence will always dog them, if he's lost two little boys instead of one.

He waits, and he doesn't watch too closely, and at night he digs up graves and burns bones and comes home in silence. No one asks him how he is, if he's scared, if he can keep doing this.

So he thinks back to the Marines, holds his training close around himself, and he tries not to miss words of comfort, of stability. He has his memories, and they will have to do. Dean doesn't talk, and he shouldn't be taking his comfort from a little boy, regardless.

At least he isn't asking questions that have no answer.

Or the ones that do, the ones that he can barely even ask himself.

*~*~*

Sammy talks first. His loud, high, baby scream pierces the night, and when he gets into their room, where they've been sharing the crib since the fire, Dean is awake and gently holding Sammy in his arms, the baby swaddled and gently rocking as he is held close by his brother.

"Dean," Sammy whimpers. "Bad." His expression is one of terror, tears running freely down his face. "Bad, bad, bad," he says. "Dean, help."

"Sammy," Dean says, and he's sure this is Dean's first word, with the way his voice is hoarse. "Just a bad dream. I got you, Sammy. Sammy. Got you."


End file.
